But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. She has not been accused of any crime. The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene. We must always move on. And experience was slow in coming. I—I hurt myself. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes.
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